Short Story: The Plague Of D-Block

He recoiled and turned his arm over to find that the source of the pain was a dull-white worm about the size of his thumb already halfway burrowed into his flesh! He gasped and quickly grasped at it with his thumb and forefinger, but the thing was fast and had already gotten under his skin. Horrified, Logan took a clumsy step backward and lost his balance, tumbling over the side of the wagon and landing in a heap on the hard dirt. He scrambled to his knees and struggled to remove his pack, fumbling and bumbling as the immediacy of the moment caused him to rush his actions, while, the excruciating pain did nothing to improve his concentration.

He walked past the fried eyeballs and frozen thumbs; past the piles and piles of lab equipment and "experiments" and God knows what else. He placed a hand on the refrigerator door, contemplating whether or not it was safe to venture into the unknown depths of the ice box. The last time he had braved such a fate, he was met by a severed head, seemingly gazing lifelessly back into his soul. John's stomach growled and he took in a deep breath, deciding it was worth it. He was starving.

The small flashlight I hold under my gun does little to illuminate the room. I glance around the room, quickly taking in the rusted machinery and twisted pieces of metal; broken glass crunches beneath my feet. What’s left of the windows have been boarded up, causing the near blinding blackness. Rats scurry across the cavernous space, no doubt resenting our abrupt intrusion.

There is so many different design elements on this building that just when you think you saw them all you are surprise by something new, something so obvious that you don’t know how you could overlook in the first place. But there is nothing chaotic about the placement of the individual architectural elements. And there

Also, another claim that these structures were used as store food aupplies, is rejected by the narrator. Indeed, in this building there are no remainig grain maize on the floor. In addition, the storing grains must be kept in the big containers; but, like remaining grain there are not any big containers

Sand colored walls box the room in and the texture feels like sand too. The small room is sparsely decorated with a few posters and pictures. A small dry erase board hovers above a desk covered in training documents and other important papers. Two file cabinets stand next to the desk like two rising towers. A long antiquated wooden table stretches the length of the room with a hodgepodge of chairs lining it. The room doesn’t scream luxury but that doesn’t hide the fact that many strenuous decisions have been made in here. Across the hall sits the turnout room. Cubby holes made of wood packed with turnout gear line the room and a lone metal chair sits against the front wall. The smell of burnt materials and sweat, leftovers from previous encounters engulf the room. Although much smaller than the meeting room, the size of the room shows no importance to the significance of the room.

Ethan wasn't doing this out of nowhere, he had a reason. . . A good reason. The town was going to be invaded by space aliens. The slime was the only way to get rid of them, but everyone thought he was bad, no one trusted him.

A cell is the rigid outer covering of a typical plant cell, composed mainly of cellulose and lying outside the cell membrane. The cell wall helps the plant cell grow strong and the walls for the Westminster Mall help the building be tall and hold everything inside in place. It also only allows water and protein inside the cell and the only difference in that is that the mall allows people inside. Cell walls keep what’s inside protected, the doors that surround the mall make it vulnerable but the are important to the function of the mall as well as the cell.

Minutes after the ambulance left, a hush crept through the saloon like a slow sewage leak. A rat ran from the cantina’s cramped bathroom and darted past the bar, its claws scratching across the heavily scarred plank floor. The place had turned quiet as a graveyard on a windless night.

Something about the way she was so confident. Not afraid to fall. Not afraid to crash. Things the younger me wasn’t able to relate to. She skated by with her violet colored helmet flashing in the corner of my eye. I jumped up, surprised by the sudden movement so close to me. Coming to a stop, she paused to relax her tense body and took a moment to catch her breath. Walking up to her, I introduced myself, eager to seem cool in front of a kid my age who was interesting. Her enthusiasm about meeting me encouraged me to try to befriend her. Attempting to contain her excitement, Jenna introduced me to her parents, immediately taking off outdoors.

“Eh, are you okay?” he said as he backed away. Now was his chance. He transformed back into a Rat and dug so deep he fell inside the grave. In he fell. From afar, he saw a little figure, a childlike shape, sitting on a chair. It was Lord Voldemort.

He shook out his leg muscles while fastidiously looking at the numerous rows of Bear-Claws, Long-Johns, glazed, powdered, fudge covered, and sprinkled donuts. The saliva in his mouth instantaneously lubricated his

-A large, dark figure emerged from the opposite side of the attic. In his hands he held a heavy chain, at the end of which was a small emaciated dog. They slowly crept forwards and I realized, to my horror, that it was not a dog at the end of a chain but an old man crawling on all fours.

Ike crossed his arms and leaned against the pallid plaster wall behind the pharmacy counter. He checked his watch with a scowl and continued to listlessly fan himself. Glaring in dismay at the broken air conditioner, stacked on top of the chipped wooden window sill, Ike cursed the sticky heat under his breath. The pastel posters that complemented the chalk blue walls to the lounge were ripped along the corners and stained from years of negligence to decoration. Ike swung his legs over the countertop and hopped to the floor, his heels clicked against the dull linoleum tiles. Sauntering to the center of the lobby, a whiff of humid air and the stench of something moldy and rotting caught Ike’s attention. Distracted by the putrid odor, the young

Passing Memorial Union, Lincoln Hall was seen over there along a straight road. Approaching it, I saw many people who wore a muddy white T-shirt and jeans dig up the earth with shovels. Actually, there might be other people to do other things, but people I could recognize were only them digging holes; because the white road I was walking on was dirty with brown mud. The dormitory was under construction although some students already started to live there. I wondered whether it would be finished until fall semester started. Finally, I managed to got there, and stand in front of the big grass door. Pulling the silver knob, entering into Lincoln hall, there is the same door that I had just opened in a small square room. It is probably for tight